NEW COURAGE AND NEW PLANS
The next morning after breakfast Tom sat down to take account of his
situation. But his wife's sullen presence, as she cleared away the
dishes, suffocated his thoughts. He went out and walked south a few
blocks to a little park that had formerly served the neighborhood as a
burying-ground. A raw wind was chattering among the bare twigs of the
sycamore trees; the earth was a rigid shell from the night's frost, and
its little squares and oblongs of grass were a brownish-gray; the sky
was overcast with gray clouds. The little park, this dull March day, was
hardly more cheerful than the death it had erewhile housed, but Tom sat
down in its midst with a sense of grateful relief.
His mind had already passed upon Maggie's demand of the previous
evening. But would it avail to continue the fight against Foley? He had
slept well, and the sleep had strengthened his spirit and cleared his
brain; and Ruth's recurring words, "I think you are the bravest man I
have ever known," were to him a determining inspiration. He went over
the situation detail by detail, and slowly a new plan took shape.
Foley had beaten him by a trick. In six months there would be another
election. He would run again, and this next time, profiting by his dear
experience of Wednesday night, he would see that guard was set against
every chance for unfair play. During the six months he would hammer at
Foley's every weak spot, and emphasize to the union the discredit of
Foley's discreditable acts.
He would follow up his strike agitation. He had already put Foley into
opposition to a demand for more money. If he could induce the union to
make the demand in the face of Foley's opposition it would be a telling
victory over the walking delegate. Perhaps, even, he might head the
management of the strike--if it came to a strike. And if the strike were
won, it would be the complete undoing of Foley. As for Maggie, she would
oppose the plan, of course, but once he had succeeded she would approve
what he had done. In the meantime he would have to work at some poorly
paid labor, and appease her as best he could.
At dinner that night little was said, till Maggie asked with a choking
effort: "Did you see Foley to-day?"
"No," said Tom. He ate a mouthful, then laid down knife and fork, and
looked firmly into her face. "I didn't try to see him. And I might as
well tell you, Maggie, that I'm not going to see him."
"You'll not see him?" she asked in a dry voice. "You'll not see him?"
"Most likely it would not do any good if I did see him. You mark what I
say, Maggie," he went on, hopefully. "Foley thinks I'm down, and you
do, too, but in a few months things'll be better than they ever were. We
may see some hard times--but in the end!"
"You were just that certain last week. But how'll we live?"
"I'll find some sort of a temporary job."
She looked at him tensely; then she rose abruptly and carried her
indignant grief into the kitchen. She had decided that he must be borne
with. But would he never, never come to his senses!
After he had finished his dinner, which had been ready earlier than
usual, Tom hurried to the Barrys', and found the family just leaving the
table. He rapidly sketched his new plan.
"You're runnin' again' Foley again in six months is all right, but
where's the use our tryin' to get more money?" grumbled Pete. "Suppose
we fight hard an' win the strike. What then? We get nothin' out of it.
Foley won't let us work."
"Oh, talk like a man, Pete!" requested Mrs. Barry. "You know you don't
think that way."
"If we win the strike, with Foley against it, it'll be the end of him,"
said Tom, in answer to Pete.
"But suppose things turn out with Foley in control o' the strike?"
questioned Barry.
"That won't happen. But if it would, he'd run it all on the square. And
he'd manage it well, too. You know what he has done. Well, he'd do the
same again if he was forced into a fight.
"It won't be hard to work the men up to make the demand for an
increase," Tom went on. "All the men who voted for me are in favor of
it, and a lot more, too. All we've got to do is to stir them up a bit,
and get word to them to come out on a certain night. Foley'll hardly
dare put up a fight against us in the open."
"Whoever runs the strike, we certainly ought to have more money," said
Mrs. Barry decidedly.
"And the bosses can afford to give us more," declared Tom. "They've
never made more than they have the last two years."
"Sure, they could divide a lot o' the money we've made with us, an'
still not have to button up their own clothes," averred Mrs. Barry.
"Oh, I dunno," said Pete. "They're hard up, just the same as us. What's
a hundred thousand when you've got to spend money on yachts, champagne
an' Newport, an' other necessities o' life? The last time I was at the
Baxters', Mrs. Baxter was settin' at the kitchen table figgerin' how she
could make over the new dress she had last summer an' wonderin' how
she'd ever pay the gas bill."
Mrs. Barry grunted.
"I got a picture o' her!"
Tom brought the talk back to bear directly upon his scheme, and soon
after left, accompanied by Pete, to begin immediately his new campaign.
As soon as they had gone Mrs. Barry turned eagerly to her husband. "If
we get that ten per cent. raise, Henry won't have to go to work when
he's fourteen like we expected."
"Yes. I was thinkin' o' that."
"An' we could keep him in school mebbe till he's eighteen. Then he
could get a place in some office or business. By that time Annie'll be
old enough to go to normal college. She can go through there and learn
to be a teacher."
"An' mebbe I can get you some good clothes, like I've always wanted to."
"Oh, you! D'you think you can buy everything with seventy dollars!" She
leaned over with glowing eyes and kissed him.
Rapid work was required by the new campaign, for Tom had settled upon
the first meeting in April as the time when he would have the demand for
more wages put to a vote. The new campaign, however, would be much
easier than the one that had just come to so disastrous an ending. As he
had said, the men were already eager to make the demand for more money;
his work was to unite this sentiment into a movement, and to urge upon
the men that they be out to vote on the first Wednesday in April.
Tom's first step was to enlist the assistance of the nine other men who
had helped him in his fight against Foley. He found that the vengeance
of the walking delegate had been swift; seven had abruptly lost their
jobs. When he had explained his new plan, eight of the nine were with
him. The spirit of the ninth was gone.
"I've had enough," he said bitterly. "If I hadn't mixed in with you, I'd
be all right now." Upon this man Tom promptly turned his back. He was an
excellent ally to be without.
Tom, with Pete, Barry, and his eight other helpers, began regularly to
put in each evening in calling upon the members of the union. Every man
they saw was asked to talk to others. And so the word spread and spread.
And to Foley it came among the first. Jake Henderson heard it whispered
about the St. Etienne Hotel Saturday, and when the day's work was done
he hurried straight to Foley's home in order to be certain of catching
Buck when he came in to dinner. He had to wait half an hour, but that
time was not unpleasantly spent, inasmuch as Mrs. Foley set forth a
bottle of beer.
When Foley caught the tenor of Jake's story his face darkened and he let
out an oath. But immediately thereafter he caught hold of his
excitement. While Jake talked Foley's mind worked rapidly. He did not
want a strike for three sufficient reasons. First of all, that the move
was being fathered by Tom was enough to make him its opponent. Secondly,
he had absolutely nothing to gain from a strike; his power was great,
and even a successful strike could not add to it. And last, he would
lose financially by it; his arrangement with Baxter and one or two other
contractors would come to an end, and in the management of a general
strike so many persons were involved that he would have no chance to
levy tribute.
Before Jake had finished his rather long-winded account Foley cut him
short. "Yes. I'm glad youse come in. I was goin' to send for youse
to-night about this very thing."
"What! Youse knew all about it already?"
Foley looked surprise at him. "D'youse think I do nothin' but sleep?"
"Nobody can't tell youse anything," said Jake admiringly. "Youse're
right up to the minute."
"Some folks find me a little ahead." He pulled at his cigar. "I got a
little work for youse an' your bunch."
Jake sprang up excitedly. "Not Keating?"
"If youse could guess that well at the races youse'd always pick the
winner. This business's got to stop, an' I guess that's the easiest way
to stop it." And, Foley might have added, the only way.
"He ought to've had it long ago," said Jake, with conviction.
"He'll enjoy it all the more for havin' to wait for it." He stood up,
and Jake, accepting his dismissal, took his hat. "Youse have a few o'
the boys around to-night, an' I'll show up about ten. Four or five ought
to be enough--say Arkansas, Smoky, Kaffir Bill, and Hickey."
Foley saw Connelly and two or three other members of his cabinet during
the evening, and gave orders that the word was to go forth among his
followers that he was against Keating's agitation; he knew the inside
facts of present conditions, and knew there was no chance of winning a
strike. At ten o'clock he sauntered into the rear room of Mulligan's
saloon. Five men were playing poker. With the exception of one they were
a group to make an honest man fall to his knees and quickly confess his
sins. Such a guileless face had the one that the honest man would have
been content with him as confessor. In past days the five had worked a
little, each in his own part of the world, and not liking work had
procured their living in more congenial ways; and on landing in New
York, in the course of their wanderings, they had been gathered in by
Foley as suited to his purpose.
"Hello, Buck!" they called out at sight of Foley.
"Hello, gents," he answered. He locked the door with a private key, and
kicked a chair up to the table.
"Say, Buck, I got a thirst like a barrel o' lime," remarked he of the
guileless face, commonly known as Arkansas Number Two. "D'you know
anything good for it?"
"The amount o' money I spend in a year on other men's drinks'd support a
church," Foley answered. But he ordered a quart of whisky and glasses.
"Now let's get to business," he said, when they had been placed on the
table. "I guess youse've got an idea in your nuts as to what's doin'?"
"Jake put us next," grinned Kaffir Bill. "Keating."
"Yes. He's over-exertin' his throat. He's likely to spoil his voice, if
we don't sorter step in an' stop him."
"But Jake didn't tell us how much youse wanted him to have," said Kaffir
Bill. "Stiff?"
"Not much. Don't youse remember when youse made an undertaker's job out
o' Fleischmann? An' how near youse come to takin' the trip to Sing Sing?
We don't want any more risks o' that sort. Leave your guns at home."
Foley gulped down the raw whisky. "A couple months' vacation'd be about
right for Keating. It'd give him a chance to get acquainted with his
wife."
He drew out a cigar and fitted it to one corner of his mouth. "He's left
handed, youse know. An' anyhow he works mostly with his mouth."
"An' he's purty chesty," said Jake, following up Foley's cue with a
grin.
"That's the idea," said Foley. "A wing, an' say two or three slats. Or a
leg."
The five understood and pledged the faithful discharge of their trust in
a round of drinks.
"But what's in it for us?" asked Arkansas Number Two.
"It's an easy job. Youse get him in a fight, he goes down; youse do the
business with your feet. Say ten apiece. That's plenty."
"Is that all it's worth to you?" Arkansas asked cunningly.
"Make it twenty-five, Buck," petitioned Kaffir Bill. "We need the coin.
What's seventy-five more to youse?"
The other four joined in the request.
"Well, if I don't I s'pose every son-of-a-gun o' youse'll strike," said
Foley, assuming the air of a defeated employer. "All right--for this
once. But this ain't to be the regular union rate."
"You're all to the good, Buck!" the five shouted.
Foley rose and started out. At the door he paused. "Youse can't ask me
for the coin any too soon," he said meaningly.
The five held divergent opinions upon many subjects, but upon one point
they were as one mind--esteem for the bottle. So when Buck's quart of
whisky was exhausted they unanimously decided to remove themselves to
Potomac Hall, in whose bar-room there usually could be found someone
that, after a dark glance or two, was delighted to set out the drinks.
They quickly found a benefactor in the person of Johnson, also a devotee
of the bottle. They were disposing of the third round of drinks when
Pete, who had been attending a meeting of the Membership Committee of
the union, passed through the bar-room on his way out. Jake saw him,
and, three parts drunk, could not resist the opportunity for advance
satisfaction. "Hold on, Pig Iron," he called after him.
Pete stopped, and Jake walked leeringly up to him. "This here----" the
best Jake could do in the way of profanity, "Keating is goin' to get
what's comin' to him!" Jake ended with a few more selections from his
repertoire of swear-words.
Pete retorted in kind, imperatively informing Jake that he knew where he
could go, and walked away. Pete recognized the full meaning of Jake's
words; and a half hour later he was knocking on Tom's door. He found a
tall, raw-boned man sitting in one of Tom's chairs. Maggie had gone to
bed.
"Shake hands with Mr. Petersen, Pete," said Tom sleepily. "He's just
come into the union."
"Glad to know you," said Pete, and offered a hand to the Swede, who took
it without a word. He turned immediately about on Tom. "I guess you're
in for your thumps, Tom." And he told about his meeting with the five
members of the entertainment committee.
"I expected 'em before the election. Well, I'll be ready for 'em," Tom
said grimly.
A light had begun to glow in Petersen's heavy eyes as Pete talked. He
now spoke for the first time since Pete had come in. "Vot day do?" he
asked.
Pete explained in pantomine, thrusting rapid fists close to various
parts of Petersen's face. "About five men on you at once."
Petersen grunted.
When Pete left, the Swede remained in his chair with anxiety showing
through his natural stolidity. Tom gave a helpless glance at him, and
followed Pete out into the hall.
"For God's sake, Pete, help me out!" Tom said in a whisper. "He's the
fellow I helped get into the union. I told you about him, you know. He
came around to-night to tell me he's got a job. When I came in at half
past ten he'd been here half an hour already. It's eleven-thirty now.
And he ain't said ten words. I want to go to bed, but confound him, he
don't know how to leave!"
Pete opened the door. "Say, Petersen, ain't you goin' my way? Come on,
we'll go together."
Petersen rose with obvious relief. He shook hands with Tom in awkward
silence, and together he and Pete went down the stairs.
Monday morning Tom bought the first revolver he had ever possessed. If
he had had any doubt as to the correctness of Pete's news, that doubt
would not have been long with him. During the morning, as he went about
looking for a job, he twice caught a glimpse of three members of the
entertainment committee watching him from the distance; and he knew
they were waiting a safe chance to close in upon him. The revolver in
his inner vest pocket pressed a welcome assurance against his ribs.
That night when he came down from dinner to carry his new plan from ear
to ear, he found Petersen, hands in his overcoat pockets, standing
patiently without the doorway of the tenement.
"Hello, Petersen," he said in surprise.
"Hello," said Petersen.
Tom wanted no repetition of his experience of Saturday night. "Got a lot
of work to do to-night," he said hurriedly. "So-long."
He started away. The Swede, with no further words, fell into step beside
him. For several blocks they walked in silence, then Tom came to a pause
before a tenement in which lived a member of the union.
"Good-by, Petersen," he said.
"Goo'-by," said Petersen.
They shook hands.
When Tom came into the street ten minutes later there was Petersen
standing just where he had left him. Again the Swede fell into step.
Tom, though embarrassed and irritated by the man's silent, persistent
company, held back his words.
At the second stop Tom said shortly: "I'll be here a long while. You
needn't wait."
But when he came down from the call, which he had purposely extended,
Petersen was waiting beside the steps. This was too much for Tom. "Where
are you going?" he demanded.
"'Long you," the Swede answered slowly.
"I don't know's I need you," Tom returned shortly, and started away.
For half a dozen paces there was no sound but his own heel-clicks. Then
he heard the heel-clicks of the Swede. He turned about in exasperation.
"See here! What's your idea in following me around like this?"
Petersen shifted his feet uncomfortably. "De man, last night, he
say----" He finished by placing his bony fists successively on either
side of his jaw. "I tank maybe I be 'long, I be some good."
A light broke in on Tom. And he thought of the photograph on Petersen's
leprous wall. He shoved out his hand. "Put it there, Petersen!" he said.
And all that evening Tom's silent companion marched through the streets
beside him.